


The Perfect Game

by TrekChik



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baseball, Baseball Idiots, Boys Kissing, Frottage, M/M, Pining Bucky Barnes, Steve is savvier than Bucky realizes, baseball catcher Steve Rogers, baseball pitcher Bucky Barnes, pitchers and catchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekChik/pseuds/TrekChik
Summary: Red Sox pitcher Bucky Barnes is having a shitty year. He’s four years into his five-year contract and if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, he’s gonna be traded, he’s certain of it. In just three months of play, his ERA is creeping up towards six, his strikeout count is low, and he hasn’t won a game in his last three starts. To make matters worse, he’s at odds with the team’s catcher, Brock Rumlow.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 29
Kudos: 217





	The Perfect Game

Red Sox pitcher Bucky Barnes is having a shitty year. He’s four years into his five-year contract and if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, he’s gonna be traded, he’s certain of it. And that’s not what he wants. He loves Boston. He started his career here, and while he knows it’s not likely, he’d like to end it here as well. 

This year, however, in just three months of play, his ERA is creeping up towards six, his strikeout count is low, and he hasn’t won a game in his last three starts. To make matters worse, he’s at odds with the team’s catcher, Brock Rumlow. Then again, most of the team is at odds with Brock Rumlow. He’s a dick. It’s too bad he’s good at what he does. 

Bucky gets along much better with the team’s backup catcher, Steve Rogers, but until something goes wrong, or Rumlow is traded, Bucky is stuck with Rumlow. Stuck with his attitude, his shitty pitch calls, and general surly disposition. 

Whenever he gets the chance, on game days, Bucky likes to warm up with Steve. He knows he shouldn’t since Brock is the one who’ll be catching, but there’s just something about Steve that makes Bucky feel good inside. It’s probably the way Steve encourages him rather than insults him like Rumlow. 

Today, Bucky gets the win after the relief team got him out of a bases loaded sixth inning, and he’s forever grateful. He’ll take the win any way he can get it. Rumlow, of course, has something to say about it. 

“You got lucky today, Barnes,” he says, passing him in the locker room. “Good thing Wilson was there to save your ass.” 

Bucky says nothing, just grabs a towel and heads to the showers. He’s more than aware of how badly he fucked up today giving up that base hit to load the bases with one out. He was fucked and he knew it. His arm felt like jelly at that point. He couldn’t have gotten himself out of that jam if he tried. Thankfully, Coach Fury pulled him for Wilson who struck out the next two batters to get them out of the inning. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Steve says from behind him. “The important thing is that we won.” 

“Easier said than done. The guy gets into my head sometimes, you know?” Bucky throws the towel over the half partition and turns on the water. 

Steve does the same with his shower. “Hey, you’ve got six day’s rest before you pitch again, right? Work on you, and don’t worry about him.”

“Why can’t you be catching for me, Stevie?” Bucky thunks his head on the shower wall. He’d get his act together if Steve were catching for him, he’s certain of it. Having someone you can actually trust catching for you makes a world of difference. 

And look. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Brock. On the field at least. He knows the guy is going to do his level best on the field. It’s off the field the guy is just flat out creepy, and that bothers Bucky. Now Steve, Steve he trusts both on and off the field. They’re friends. They hang out together. They room together on the road. 

And if Bucky is harboring a tiny little crush on Steve, well that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

Because Steve Rogers is a goddamned unit of a man. His stats say 6’2” and 240, but Bucky bets it’s closer to 250 of nothing but lean muscle, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Bucky feels his dick twitch, so he immediately begins thinking about his pathetic stats to stave off any and all lecherous thoughts about his friend. Who’s straight. And not interested in men. Least of all, Bucky. 

He finishes washing up, turns off the spray, wraps the towel around his waist, and heads back to his locker to get dressed. He waits for Steve and they get a Lyft back to the hotel, deciding they didn’t want to wait for the team bus to take them. 

“Wanna stop in the hotel bar for a drink?” Steve asks on the way there. 

Bucky mulls it over for a moment. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do that.” 

They’re well into their second drink when Coach Fury comes up to them. “Rogers. A moment.”

“Sure, Coach.” He shrugs his shoulders at Bucky and gives him a look of  _ I don’t know.  _

Bucky looks down into his drink and wonders how he can snap out of this funk he’s in on the mound. He’s tried every superstition in his arsenal including wearing the same unwashed socks from the last game he won three starts ago. Maybe he’ll just start icing his arm 24-7 and be done with it. Couldn’t hurt, right?

When Steve comes back, he looks shaken. 

“What’s up?” Bucky asks. 

“Rumlow.”

“Oh, god. What now?”

“No, no. He uh, he fell in the showers and dislocated his elbow. I’m starting catcher going forward for the next six to eight weeks.” 

“What? That’s great! For you, of course, not for him.”

“Yeah. My god. I can’t believe it.” Steve sounds stunned. 

“Come on,” Bucky says. “Let’s get up to the room and get some rest. The new starting catcher is gonna need a good night’s sleep.” 

As Bucky lays in bed listening to the soft sound of Steve snoring in the bed next to him, he can’t help but be grateful that Steve is going to be catching for him on his next start. He knows he should feel bad for Rumlow, but he just can’t bring up any sympathy for the man. 

He rolls over and looks at Steve’s sleeping form cocooned in the blankets. He’s just so thankful that he gets to be friends with him. 

“Hey, Buck?” 

“Yeah, Steve?”

“You’re not the one starting tomorrow. Go to sleep.”

“Fine. ‘Night, punk.”

“G’night jerk.”

  
  
The next five games are excruciating for Bucky. As usual, he’s suited up and in the bullpen with the other pitchers, both those who are relief pitching and those starters who are resting. Each game brings him closer to his start, and he’s a little freaked out by it. He does his best to keep his nerves under control, but of course, Steve notices. 

Steve, for his part, has been doing great behind the plate. He’s batting .281 through five games, caught two runners out stealing second, and saved what looked like an easy RBI from scoring. Bucky is proud of him. 

By the time his next start rolls around, Bucky is so keyed up, he needs a massage to help drain all the tension in his body. He arranges a time with his trainer for early that morning. He gets up trying not to disturb Steve, but he’s already awake. 

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Going to see Maria about a massage.”

“Give me five and I’ll come with?”

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” Bucky exits the room and heads towards the elevators. He kind of doubts Steve can be ready in five minutes, but he’ll wait for him. 

It takes Steve fifteen minutes to make it downstairs and they head for the stadium. Once there, they meet up with Maria, one of the team trainers. 

“What’s going on this morning, fellas?” She asks them. 

Before Bucky can answer, Steve says, “Bucky’s a little tense about starting today. He could use a good rubdown.”

“And you?” she asks, nodding to Steve. 

“Moral support.” Steve picks up a magazine that someone left in the room and begins to flip through it. 

“Of course you are.” 

Bucky doesn’t have time to contemplate what she means by that because she directs him to strip down and get on the table, face down. She puts some oil on her hands. 

As he strips to his underwear, Maria asks, “So what’s different this time?” 

Bucky gets on the table and says, “Steve.” 

“Oh yeah?” He can hear her raise her eyebrow at that. “Because Rumlow is out?” 

“Yeah. It’s the first time he’ll be catching for me.”

Maria rubs down his back. “And that makes you nervous?”

“Well, that and his last few starts haven’t been great,” Steve says. 

“Not gonna argue with that,” Maria chuckles. She pays close attention to his pitching arm, feeling for any knots that may have accumulated there. “Your arm feels good, Buck. I don’t think you have to worry about it.” 

“What about the rest of me?” he asks. “I feel like a coiled spring.” 

Maria hums and works her magic across Bucky’s shoulders and up his neck, and down his spine. “You don’t feel too bad. I’m not finding anything out of the ordinary.” 

“See, Buck?” Steve asks. “You’re fine. You’re gonna do great today.” 

“I wish I had your confidence.” 

Maria moves her hands down to Bucky’s legs, massaging the muscles firmly. “I’m not feeling anything down here either. Go ahead and flip over and I’ll work your chest and arms from that side.”

As soon as he flips over, he notices it: Bucky is half hard from the massage. It felt so good, he must have gotten a bit more  _ relaxed _ than he’d intended. Maria, professional that she is, doesn’t say anything, just continues to work his muscles. 

Steve, on the other hand, Steve is a problem. Bucky glances over to him and notices that Steve is - what? Checking out his half boner? He’s definitely looking at it, though. Steve shifts in his chair and Bucky quickly looks away, staring intently at the ceiling. 

And what does he do with that information? Was Steve really staring at his dick? Maybe he just imagined it and Steve was staring past it, not focused on it like Bucky thought he was. But what if he was? He starts thinking about his own stats again to calm himself down. 

“There you go,” Maria says after a while. “You’re all set. You’re gonna be just fine out there today. Steve? You want a go?”

“Do what?” Steve sputters. “No. No, I’m good. Thanks.” 

“Suit yourself,” she says exiting the room. “Have a good game, boys!”

Bucky sits up on the table and dangles his legs off the side. Now that the massage is done, he is covered in oil, and glistening like a damned goldfish. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he says. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Steve says. Bucky can’t be sure, but he thinks Steve sounds off. What if -?

  
  
As they get ready to take the field, Steve drapes his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be good, all right? You’ll do just fine out there. I got you.” Bucky nods and thanks him. 

Once out on the mound, Bucky picks up the rosin bag and turns it over in his hands. He drops it and looks over at Steve who nods to him. He throws his five warm up pitches and the game is ready to begin. 

The first batter up, Bucky immediately throws two balls. Great. He’s behind on the pitch count already. One strike. Another ball. One more strike. He’s got a full pitch count at 3-2. His next pitch results in a fly ball to center which is easily fielded by his teammate. One out. The next two batters are much the same, and the inning is quickly over. 

Back in the dugout, Steve claps him on the back. “Good work out there,” he says. And Bucky is feeling pretty good about the inning. Once the first batter was out, he felt a little bit of his old rhythm come back, and the second and third batters felt easy. It’s a good feeling. 

As the game progresses, Bucky isn’t really paying attention to how he’s doing. All he knows is that the Sox are up 2-0 by the end of the fifth inning. At the top of the sixth, he’s a little surprised that Fury hasn’t pulled him - his pitch count must be getting up there - but his arm feels good, so he’ll keep going. Another three batters up, and another three batters down. 

It doesn’t hit him until the bottom of the seventh that he realizes what’s going on. His first clue is that no one is sitting near him in the dugout. Baseball superstition states that you only do that if you don’t want to ruin a guy’s streak. His second was that Fury still hadn’t pulled him. 

Bucky is on the verge of a perfect game. 

He’s gone seven innings and not a single batter has reached first base. 

_ Fuck _ . 

He goes back out for the eighth inning, and he’s nervous. He reaches for the rosin bag much more than he normally does. It’s not a great feeling. But he does it. He manages to strike out two batters, and the third hits a pop fly to third to end the inning. 

He’s got one more inning to go. 

The top of the ninth is going to give him a heart attack, the way his heart pounds in his chest. He knows the entire stadium has its eyes on him and whether or not he’s going to fuck this up. He gets set on the rubber and looks down the mound to Steve for the pitch call. He shakes off the first two and verifies the third. 

It’s a ball. And so are the next two pitches. He’s now behind the count 3-0. He’s one pitch away from fucking it up. Steve calls for time and comes to the mound. 

“You got this, you know that, right?”

“Do I?”

“I have faith in you. How’s your arm feel?”

Bucky gives his arm a shake. It actually feels pretty good. “Good, actually. It feels good.”

“Good. Then take this ball and strike this son of a bitch out.” Steve slaps the ball into Bucky’s glove and trots back home, taking his position behind the plate. He throws up a sign for Bucky who nods in agreement. 

Strike. 3-1. 

He gears up for the next pitch, accepting Steve’s call sign right away. He’s going to trust Steve to get him through this. 

Strike. 3-2. 

He does his best to tune out the roar of the crowd. He can’t see Steve’s face through the catcher’s mask, but he’d like to think his teammate is smiling at him. 

The next pitch is a ground ball to second, an easy out at first. 

He’s two outs away from a perfect game. 

The next batter up is an infield pop fly the third baseman easily fields. 

He’s one out away from a perfect game. 

He kind of wishes Steve would come talk to him on the mound again, but he knows why he won’t, and it’s okay. He needs to focus on this last out. Fenway is on its feet but also deathly quiet as he gears up for the next batter. 

It’s a pinch hitter, fresh off the bench. Of course. Give him the new guy. Of course they want to win so it makes sense. 

Bucky stands at the rubber and takes a calming breath. He’s retired 26 batters. He just needs this one more. He can do it. 

Strike. 

Ball. 

Foul. 

Ball. 

He looks towards Steve for any kind of helpful sign. All he gets is the regular pitch call. He nods, centers himself, winds up, and throws. 

Strike! 

He did it! Bucky just threw a perfect game! 

Before he knows what hit him, Steve jumps into his arms in celebration and kisses his cheek. The rest of his teammates flood the mound with congratulations, so much so that Bucky ends up on the ground with Steve on top of him. 

The sound of the stadium is deafening. His teammates screaming on top of that makes it even louder. He’s so happy he did it. He’s done what only 23 people have done since 1880. He can hardly believe he did it. He’s so happy that he ends up taking Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him full on the lips. 

In front of everyone. In front of a national television audience. But they’re on the bottom of the pile, so he doubts anyone saw anything. Steve doesn’t show anything other than jubilation, so Bucky writes it off as an impulsive act of …. Something. He doesn’t know what. 

Later on, no one in the locker room or any of the reporters mentions it, so he figures he’s safe. Even if they do mention it, he can say that’s what they do in his family when they’re excited. Lord knows it’s true. 

Later that night, after all the interviews and the celebration, when it’s just the two of them in their hotel room, Bucky says, “Sorry I kissed you.”

“What?”

“I was just so happy, you know?”

“It’s okay, Buck. No harm, no foul.” 

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Now go to sleep.”

It’s a couple of days later and they’re out at Steve’s favorite seafood place in Boston. They both know what’s going to happen. It’s tradition that the winning pitcher buys his catcher a watch as a thank you for helping him win either a no hitter or a perfect game. 

Bucky has chosen a Rolex Submariner in steel and gold and wonders if it’s enough. After all, this one pitching performance is enough to put Bucky in Cooperstown no matter what he ends up with as a W-L record when he retires. Somehow a fifteen thousand dollar watch doesn’t seem like it’s enough of a thank you. 

Steve obviously picks up on this and asks Bucky what’s wrong, just as Bucky takes a giant bite of his lobster roll. He holds up a finger to give himself a moment to swallow then says, “Nothing. Just wondering if what I got was enough.” 

“I’m sure it’s perfect. Just like you.” He coughs suddenly and takes a sip of his beer. “Your game. Your perfect game.” 

They finish up dinner in companionable silence as the restaurant is busy and loud. After the plates are cleared away, Bucky pulls out the bag with the watch in it and slides it across the table to Steve. 

“This is such a silly tradition,” Steve says. 

“Don’t let the baseball gods hear you say that,” Bucky chides. “You know how superstitious they are.” 

Steve pulls the box out of the bag and opens it up. He hadn’t worn his regular watch tonight so he could put this one on. “Buck, it’s perfect.”

“I got the blue face rather than the black because I thought it went better with your eyes.” And did he really just admit that? What is wrong with him? 

“Thank you. I love it.” He opens up the watch and slips it on his wrist. “See? Perfect fit.” He reaches his hand across the table and touches Bucky’s. “Wanna get out of here?” 

“I’d love to.” 

They settle up the bill and head outside for a taxi. “I think my place is closer,” Steve says. “We can have a drink and call it a night.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bucky says. 

But Bucky is suddenly nervous. More nervous than when he threw the perfect game the other day. They climb into the back of the taxi and sit like salt and pepper, Bucky feeling that the air is thick with something he can’t put his finger on. 

Steve’s legs fall open a little more and his thigh touches Bucky’s. The electricity there is almost palpable. Bucky runs his hands down his thighs. He almost wishes he had a rosin bag to dry them off with. 

When they get to Steve’s house, Bucky pays the bill before Steve can even get his wallet out. “It’s my night to thank you,” he says. He ignores the way the taxi driver rolls his eyes. 

Once inside, Steve sets down the watch bag on the kitchen counter and asks Bucky if he wants a beer or something harder. “I’d love a scotch,” Bucky says. 

“Scotch it is,” Steve says going to the mini bar in the corner of the dining room. He pulls out a bottle of Macallan and pours them each two fingers. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Let’s sit on the sofa,” Steve says. They move to the large couch and sit. “So,” Steve starts. “Can we, uh, talk about that kiss?” 

Bucky chokes on his drink, coughing at the liquid that went down the wrong way. 

“You okay?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah. I just….didn’t expect you to bring that up. Sorry.” Bucky runs his hand through his hair as if to calm himself. 

“Are you uncomfortable with it?”

Bucky thinks about that for a moment. “No. I mean...It was a spur of the moment thing. I was just so happy, you know?”

“No, I get it,” Steve says. He scoots closer to Bucky on the sofa. “It’s just that I thought it might have meant something else.” 

“Such as?”

Steve takes a sip of his scotch before answering. “I thought you might like me.”

And there it is. Bucky is going to die. Steve actually said the words and now he’s going to torture him by teasing him about it like some middle school bully. Fucking great. 

“I do,” Bucky says. “I mean, I don’t  _ like  _ you, like you,” he lies. “You’re a good guy.” 

Steve’s fingers find their way to Bucky’s leg. “But what if I like you?” 

And Bucky didn’t hear what he thinks he did. Steve likes him? How is that possible? He takes a large gulp of his scotch. Oh, who is he kidding? He finishes the glass and feels the liquid burn down his throat. Maybe it’ll give him some courage. Maybe not. He sets the glass down on the coffee table. 

Steve’s hand squeezes Bucky’s thigh, and he sets his own drink next to Bucky’s. He turns to face Bucky, who is frozen in place. He runs a finger down Bucky’s face and says, “Do you want to continue it?” 

And just like that, it’s like a switch has flipped in Bucky’s brain. He places his hand on Steve’s and twines their fingers together. “I would,” he says cautiously as he turns to face Steve. 

Steve leans in and kisses him. It’s chaste, just a brushing together of lips, but Steve opens his mouth and his tongue flicks at Bucky’s lips seeking entrance. Bucky lets him in. And it’s amazing. Bucky never imagined kissing Steve would feel this way. 

He leans into Steve, bringing his hand up to his face to cup his cheek. In fact, he leans so far in that Steve relaxes back into the couch with Bucky on top of him. And there’s a feeling he wasn’t ready for: Steve is hard. Bucky rolls his hips against Steve’s, getting a feel for the other man. Steve groans into his mouth. 

“Shit, Buck. That feels good.” 

So he does it again. Bucky’s own dick responds in kind, the hard flesh beneath the denim of their pants rubbing together. They make out and rut together for what feels like an eternity in Bucky’s mind with him lost in the sensations surrounding him. He gasps when Steve brazenly cups his cock through his jeans. 

“Like that, didja, Buck?” All Bucky can do is nod. “You gonna come for me?”

“I’m close,” Bucky says into their shared airspace. “You?” 

“Wanna see you first. See how pretty you are when you come.”

And fuck it all, what is Bucky supposed to do with  _ that?  _ He pushes his hips down into Steve’s hand a few more times, and suddenly he’s coming in his pants like a teenager, and collapses on top of Steve. 

“Knew you’d be pretty when you came,” Steve says softly. He shifts positions a little and he ruts up into Bucky’s thigh, avoiding his sensitive cock. “Oh, god, Bucky!” and Steve comes in his pants. 

They both lay there for a minute catching their breath. Bucky stiffens with the weight of what they just did. Steve wraps his arms around him and says, “Penny for your thoughts.” 

Bucky huffs a laugh. It’s stupid, and he knows he should be an adult about this, but he just got off on his straight teammate. Who maybe isn’t as straight as Bucky initially thought. “Just wondering what’s next,” he says, pushing up to look at Steve. 

“What’s next is that we clean up before our underwear gets crusty.” 

Steve taps him on the hip and Bucky sits back. How can Steve be so cavalier about what just happened? Did he really want to do that, or was it a thank you for the thank you watch? That must be it because Steve has never professed any kind of interest in men. 

But then again, there are no out ballplayers yet. Maybe Steve is gay. Or bi. Or pan. Or whatever allows him to like more than just women. Because he knows for a fact that Steve Rogers has fucked around with women on road trips. Bucky has come back to their shared room on more than one occasion when Steve was...entertaining. 

Steve stands. “You look a little peaked there, bud. You okay?” 

“Yeah, I just - that just happened.” 

Steve smiles brightly. “It did.” 

“With you.” 

“I was there, yes.” 

“You’re not -”

“Straight? Gay? No. I’m neither. Bisexuality is a thing, you know.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He knew that. He absolutely knew that. 

“Oh, shit. I misread the signs, didn’t I?” Steve suddenly looks panicked. 

“What? No! I wanted that to happen.” 

Steve sidles up to Bucky and pulls him up off the sofa. “Good. Me, too.” He leans in and kisses Bucky again. “And I’d like for it to happen again.” 

“So would I,” Bucky says. “Maybe with a little less clothing next time, though.” He indicates the stain on his jeans. 

“We can do that,” Steve says. He takes Bucky’s hand and leads him towards the bathroom. “Let’s get cleaned up so maybe we can dirty each other again.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://trekchik.tumblr.com/post/619036835142844416/red-sox-pitcher-bucky-barnes-is-having-a-shitty) Tumblr post.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://trekchik.tumblr.com). I'm nice.


End file.
